Increasingly Difficult
by Lifelike
Summary: Zack finds it increasingly difficult to be around the presence of Freddy when he's so obviously crushing on him. [MAJOR SLASH][ZackFreddy]


"I hate high school," Zack mumbles under his breath as he smacks his head against a cold metal locker, the direct domino effect of being shoved out of the way when two seniors started duking it out in the hallways. He wonders in broken thoughts how kids in a private school, of all things, can be fighting in the hallways. It doesn't take long before a teacher is breaking the two up.

He gathers his books from the ground and shuffles up the rickety stairs and into room seventeen, his Creative Writing class, and slides into an empty chair. He realizes he's early after a hasty glance at the clock. He groans and folds his head into his arms on the table. He just wants to sleep now, sleep away the headache and sleep away the hatred he feels for high school.

A book comes crashing down onto his head and he swears loudly, gripping the back of his head. Someone is laughing. He snarls, whirling around to find a laughing Freddy, eyes glimmering with amusement, and Zack isn't mad anymore, but his headache persists with twice the throbbing pain it had before. Instead, he chooses to pat the seat next to him. He loves this class most because Freddy's in it too.

"Did you see the fight, small fry?" Freddy asks. Zack rolls his eyes. Of course he saw the fight.

"Yeah." And then, for good measure, he adds, "And don't call me 'small fry.'"

Freddy laughs again. "But you're so short!" Zack sighs. Not much shorter than Freddy, who is already tall and lanky at five feet, nine inches, while Zack is still at the rather feminine, emaciated height of five feet, five inches. "And besides, it fits you. After all, you do look a bit like a girl."

"Hey!"

Freddy holds up his hands in defense. "Just an observation, Zack. Nothing to spaz about." Once Zack has relaxed, he leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows and forearms on the table, supporting the rest of his upper-body weight on the makeshift supports of his arms. "But... femininity is a good thing sometimes. Like, if gives you longer, thinner fingers for playing guitar."

"You have long, thin fingers too," Zack mentions, grabbing Freddy's hand and holding it up. He observes the sleek, whiteness of his fingers, and when he starts to brush those fingers with his own darker ones, he hears a small gasp. He turns to Freddy, who's looking at him too, and suddenly he's wondering what it is in his stomach that makes him feel so giddy when he's with Freddy.

"Sorry," he mumbles, dropping the hand and casting his gaze away. He looks anywhere but Freddy, instead opting to glance out the window or run his fingers over the worn, thirty-year old graffiti carved into the table. (Jackson class of '78; Jerry Garcia Heart; Class of '84 4Ever!)

It's silent, so silent that Zack begins to panic, thinking that Freddy knows, he _knows_. And Freddy, as if nothing has happened, says, "Hey, wanna go to a movie on Saturday? I was thinking like... I dunno... that new Tim Burton movie?"

Zack bolts upright and feels so much better. "Sure! But Corpse Bride is like... well, a romance story, isn't it?"

Freddy shrugs. "It's not like people think we _look_ like that, Zack, and besides, even if they did, would you care?"

Zack smiles, and he wants people to think such so he can display his love for Freddy outwardly, and he shrugs and says, "Nah, I guess not."

* * *

Saturday rolls up slowly. By the time it comes, Zack has a proven hypothesis: when you're hyped about something, it tends to take longer to get to you. In such a case, his outing (because, and Zack knew this, it would never be a date) with Freddy. He'd looked up movie times, appropriate places to eat, concessions at the theater, everything he could to make this perfect. He even took his entire monthly allowance of seventy-five dollars as opposed to his weekly allowance, a mere fifteen dollars. By the time Friday night had come to a full-fledged stop in front of him, he was ready.

On Saturday morning, Zack got up at eleven o' clock, three hours before the movie started (because Freddy sleeps late) and walked his dog. When he got back, it was eleven-thirty. He got breakfast, watched a bit of TV. It's twelve twenty-four now, and his phone starts to ring. With a leap, he picks up his phone and answers it with an over-eager, "Hey!"

"Excited, Zack?" comes Freddy's sleepy voice from the phone.

"Damn straight," Zack replies. "We never hang out now that school has started. Did you just wake up?"

"Couldn't sleep anyway, so yeah," Freddy answers. Faintly, Zack hears the rustle of pants hitting the ground.

"Showering?" he asks, trying to cover up the fact that the mere thought of Freddy showering has gotten him hot.

"Mmm-hmm," Freddy responds, sleepily. "One sec, let me remove my shirt."

Zack coughs unexpectedly as he hears the jostling of the phone on his friend's side. He hears fabric shuffling against his skin, and Zack closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. He finds it hard to do when his throat is closing and he feels warm inside.

"Back," Freddy says, and Zack snaps back to attention. He doesn't even want to show it in his voice. Instead he coughs again. "You okay?" Zack gulps. "You're coughing an awful lot. Are you sick?"

"No!" Zack says zealously. "I've just got stuff in my throat."

"Oh." There's a pause. "Hey, I'm gonna shower. I feel weird talking to someone totally naked." Zack blushes and sighs, lost in his thoughts. Freddy and him say goodbye, and Zack waits until Freddy hangs up, then slowly closes the top of his phone, stands, and retreats to his room. He sheds his clothes and climbs into the shower. He turns it on to a lukewarm temperature and begins to shower, all the while wondering what Freddy is doing in his shower, what part he's washing with the Dial soap. Zack uses tea tree soap, not because it's girly, but because it's the only soap he can find that won't flake his skin or give him a rash.

He squeezes his shampoo into his hand and lathers it in, detachedly rinsing it out and then repeats with some conditioner. And when he finishes, he turns off the shower and steps out, dripping on his bathroom floor. He snags a towel from the rack on the left and wraps it tightly around his waist before continuing into his bedroom for clothing, all the while thinking of Freddy doing the same, his wet, slick blonde hair askew and warm. He catches a glance of his face in the mirror. His cheeks are not pink from heat but pink from lust, and even from there he can tell his already dark eyes are almost black with want. He promises that when Freddy comes to pick him up, he will not look like he wants to lay Freddy, although he wants nothing more than to press their lips together and mesh their hands in an intricate and loving fashion and be the one to remove a shirt from his skin. Zack shakes his thoughts away. Now is _not_ the time.

He gets dressed in a loose but form-fitting shirt, white with AC/DC written on the front, faded from use, with the neck cut low and open and the sleeves obviously cut off, the bottom as well to cover his hips rather than reaching down to the middle of his thighs, and a pair of fading, ripped, mutilated jeans, with a hole in one knee so big that it cuts down to his calf, the jeans barely staying together. He slides on a pair of equally tattered shoes, the laces askew and shredded, unlaced. And as a final touch, he pulls on a Boston Red Sox cap, an old one that had been huge for his head when he had bought it four years ago when he was ten.

He glances at the clock. It's one now. Freddy is coming at one-thirty (to which he grumbled unhappily. Freddy's usual wake-up time was one-thirty to two o' clock, and waking up at twelve was a feat and probably foreign to his body). Zack plays video games on his computer for a half hour.

He's almost finished with level ten when someone grabs his shoulders from behind. Zack lets out a frightened yelp, and the person laughs, and Zack feels squishy inside. He knows that laugh; he knows it far too well.

"Pussy!" Freddy shouts happily, plopping down on the table next to Zack. He smiles, ruffling Zack's hair. "Ready, dude?"

"Yeah, let me get my wallet." Zack runs into his room, inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, snags his wallet, inhales, exhales, then returns downstairs. Freddy is looking at a painting on the wall with a studious look in his eye. Zack stands next to him. It's a painting Zack painted over the summer, a bright amount of vibrant greens, oranges and yellows on a light-yellow washed canvas. His parents has thought of it as a joyous painting, but Zack had painted it to look depressive, that people were supposed to see a mask in it, because the yellow wash had a smear of blue, vibrant, visible and slightly hidden, and a dark, small circle of the deepest blue in the lower left-hand corner. Zack always sees the depression in the painting; others are not as observant as the artist.

Freddy says, "I like this painting. Whoever painted it should be on exhibit." Zack blushes. "I can see... joy in it." Zack fumes. "But... I also feel sad when I look at it." Zack is hopeful now.

"I painted it," he blurts out.

Freddy looks over at him and smiles. "I really like it."

Zack smiles back. Then the two exit the house (Zack locks it for good measure) and into Freddy's dad's car. Mr. Jones smiles at him from the driver's seat as Freddy gets into the passenger side. Mr. Jones tells them to call when they're on the bus heading back to Freddy's so Zack can spend the night. Zack fidgets in the back seat, finding it harder and harder to sit in the presence of Freddy.

They get to the movie theater, and Freddy suddenly gasps. "Fuck! I forgot my money." He glances at Zack, hopeful. "I'm really sorry, Zack."

Zack feels great knowing that he can pay for Freddy. Even though he knows it's not a date, he can make it seem more like it is if he pays for the tickets, for lunch, for concessions. He nods and smiles. "I can pay."

Freddy smiles back, and Zack melts. He buys two tickets for the Corpse Bride, a bucket of popcorn and an even bigger bucket of Cherry Coke. He's reaching for a second straw when Freddy says, "Don't bother, it's okay, really."

Zack is so happy that his throat gets tight. They head into the movie theater and sit down in the back, where they can throw popcorn, be noisy, and piss people off. The two chat cheerfully, and Zack finds it increasingly difficult to suppress the urge to close their lips together and to tell him he loves him, but he says nothing, does nothing.

The theater is relatively empty and it's not even close to being a quarter full by the time the movie starts. Zack tries to pay attention to Tim Burton's genius, but he can't focus with Freddy shifting around next to him. He decides to test something. He moves carefully, taking care to brush his fingers "accidentally-on-purpose" against Freddy's. He hears a sharp intake of breath. A glance at Freddy shows his cheeks tinged pink, his chest rising and falling quickly but silently. Zack smirks, then coughs and shifts again, brushing their knees together. Freddy groans very quietly, and Zack's point is proven.

Carefully, he nudges Freddy's hand with his pinky finger. Freddy looks at him. Zack smiles back, and then, just a boldly, he slides his hand over Freddy's. Freddy gasps, his eyes go wide, and he looks over at Zack again. Zack blinks and moves his hand quickly with a hasty, sad glance downward. Then something warm slides over his own hand. He looks over one last time. Freddy's cheeks are pink, pretty and nervous, his bottom lip tucked under his teeth. Zack smiles wide, rolling his hand over and gripping Freddy's back. They stay that way until the end of the film.

When the film is over, and everyone has left, Freddy stands and Zack does too, and they walk out. Zack puts his hands in his pockets, Freddy's hands twist around giddily.

"What now?" Freddy asks as Zack pays for two cheeseburgers and two more Cokes at the nearby fast food joint, Bill's. The two sit down at a table, digging into their food.

"What do you mean, 'what now?'" Zack questions, biting into his burger. Bill's makes the best burgers in town. He can't pass up a chance to eat with his best friend (his boyfriend?) at the best fast food in town.

"Does this mean we're... well... gay?" Freddy looks mortified at the thought. "My dad will kill me."

"Not necessarily," Zack says. "I've never been attracted to any other guy besides you, Freddy."

Freddy grins. "Does this make us... boyfriends?"

Zack pauses, and then says, "Only if you want to be."

Freddy nods vigorously.

"How long have you liked me?" asks Zack, sipping from his Coke.

"Two years now," Freddy replies, gazing off across the street. "You?"

"Just at the start of the year," Zack says, "I started thinking that maybe the shit I got in my stomach around you was cause for alarm." He smiles.

Freddy grins, and they finish their respective lunches in silence. They finish, toss their bags, and decide it's too early, so they head to the waterfall park and just sit in silence, alone and tranquil.

It's all well and good until Freddy's phone rings shrilly, and Freddy answers it: "Hello? ... Hi, Dad. ... Sure, sure. ... Uh... the waterfall park. ... Yeah. We'll see you there. Bye." Freddy stands and says, "Meeting Dad outside Express. Come on." He helps Zack up. The two joke and laugh all the way to Express.

Zack has never been happier.

When they get to Freddy's, it's almost four o' clock, and Zack calls his parents so someone can drop off his pajama bottoms and his clothes for the next day, and when that's done, Freddy and him play Xbox for a while.

"You know, Zack," Freddy comments as he blasts Zack's alien character to a blue mess of blood, "I'm glad that we decided to do all this today as opposed to some other day." He smiles. "I don't think I've ever liked someone as much as I like you."

Zack smiles back, pauses his game controller, and leans into Freddy. "I feel the same." He closes his eyes when Freddy's hand comes to his opposite shoulder, and then, Freddy says, "Can I kiss you now?"

Zack looks up, his smile fades because Freddy looks serious. He nods slowly. Freddy's lips descend, nervously touching his own, and Zack helps Freddy and pushes back. Freddy gets the idea, wraps his arms around Zack's waist, and pulls him close and tight. Zack knows Freddy is experienced, and he lets Freddy control the kiss... for now.

When they part, Freddy breathes, "Damn." Then he grins and says, "This is so weird."

Zack starts to laugh. "It is, huh?"

Then Freddy cocks his head and intertwines their fingers. "But," he says pensively, "if this is weird, then I want the whole world to be weird just for us."

Zack loves the word "us".

By the time the day is done, Freddy and Zack have kissed, held hands, and cuddled. And at three in the morning, just as Freddy is sleeping and Zack is starting to give in to sleep, he thinks that if loving Freddy is wrong, he never wants to be right.

* * *

**A/N:** Tell me what you think, okay? Gratzi:) 


End file.
